Just Going Through the Motions.

Not my picture, but looks like my tree and hummingbird.

I don't really like that statement.  It's way overused and not too original.  How about another simile?  Or is it a metaphor?  Analogy? Floundering like a fish out of water.  Hanging on by a thread.  Grasping at straws.  Oh yeah, man, I'm spent.  Totally, utterly, pathetically spent.

People told me that grief and mourning would come in waves.  It that is so, then I am at the low part of the wave.  The trough, I believe it's called.  I feel like I'm just moving through the days, feeling nothing and seeing nothing.  Everything seems to lack dimension.  Flat.  Everything is flat.  To someone looking in, I suppose it seems that I'm "getting on" or "moving on" or whatever verbal garbage (well-intentioned, I do realize) people insist upon throwing my way.  I'm functioning.  I'm not laying around sobbing and sulking.  I'm getting stuff done, I tell you!  But my heart is hurting.

My favorite person is not here with me.  The person that I shared everything with.  I cannot just pick up the phone and call him to tell him that Sarah has another loose tooth.  Or that Jon is really improving at playing catch.  Or that Jack and I built a new fence.  Or that Madeline went back to work. He cannot advise me on when I should plant the peas and potatoes or how to install the fan in the bathroom. He can't take Jack to buy new baseball cleats because he's outgrown his again.   He is not here to tell me that the pumpkin bread Sarah and I baked last night is really great.  He is not here to rub my feet on the sofa while I knit and he watches crap TV.  His clothes still hang in our closet and his boots still sit by the back door.  But he is not here.

The days are getting longer and the trees are all budding out.  There are violets and snowdrops and daffodils everywhere.  I love spring.  But this year I hate it.  I hate how the seasons change, how the Earth keeps on spinning, and life around me keeps on moving forward.  Actually, that's not entirely true.  I am comforted by the familiar rhythms of the world around me.  The consistency in which things change is grounding to me.  But now, I feel like a single person standing in one spot, watching everything and everyone moving around me.  And all I can do is stand and watch.  Alone.

Things I Never Thought I'd Do. Or Need. Or Use.

Anyone who knows me, even just a little bit, knows that I try to live a simple life.  I'm not a shopper.  I'm not much of a consumer at all.  I'm ridiculously frugal (cheap, actually, but frugal sounds better).  I don't like to waste anything.  I'd rather buy things used or I'd rather barter or trade if at all possible.  Or I'd rather just do without.

As I cleaned up the kitchen after dinner this evening I pondered over a few changes I've made the past few weeks.  Some of these changes were made out of exhaustion.  Some were made out of pure laziness.  Some of them just kind of happened.  I seriously doubt that any of them will be permanent, but you just never know.  Want to hear a few?

1.  I have a cellular phone.  I have not carried such a phone for at least 10 years.  And I had never texted a person before last Friday. Now I carry the darn thing with me everywhere.  It's not a simple phone either.  It's an I-phone 6.  I guess when you decide to drink the kool-aid you should just guzzle.

2.  I used to make my own laundry soap.  It was unscented.  Now I use Tide Pods in the Spring Meadow scent.  My clothes smell like a French whore but I kind of like it.

3.  I have a clothes dryer but I've seldom used it in the past 5 years.  I use it for at least half my laundry now.  I even dried my sheets in it last week.  Because I use Tide Pods, there is no static and my laundry is all soft and fluffy.

4.  We normally heat exclusively with wood.  The other day I put 100 gallons of oil in the tank and I turn the furnace on every morning now.  Lazy, yes.  But warm and cozy.

5.  I bought a Sonicare toothbrush.  I actually like it and think it's worth the money.

6.  Bill hated that I refused to buy paper towels.  Or paper napkins.  Now I have a drawer full of paper products and I use them.  There's even some made of Styrofoam.

7.  I normally bake my own bread.  I've only made one loaf in the past month.  It would have been two loaves but the power went out one day and I couldn't use the oven.  Right now I have Franz bread in my breadbox.

8.  I bought Eggo waffles.  Twice.

9.  Sarah ate ice cream for breakfast one morning.  Really.

10.  I shopped for clothes at a store other than Goodwill.  Actually, the fact that I shopped at all is pretty unusual.

I'm not sure whether this list is more amusing or more pathetic.

A New Kind of Birthday.

Today was Jon's 11th birthday.  He was born on February 20th, 2004, in Silverton, Oregon, at 8:40 PM.  I drove myself to the hospital (Bill was with me.  I just wanted to drive) to have my labor induced because of the steady upward creep of my blood pressure at the end of the pregnancy.  When I arrived at the hospital and was hooked up to the monitors, it was obvious that I was already in a regular contraction pattern.  Dear Dr. Dalisky just had to break my water to get things moving along.  And move along they did.  Quickly.    I like to have my babies in  record time, so less than three hours later, here came Jon.  Bruised and battered for sure, but a healthy, strong 8 lb. baby boy.  Bill slept with him the entire night, like he did with all of our babies.  He accompanied our unnamed baby (Jon didn't have a name for almost 2 days.  But that's a story for another day) to be circumcised in the middle of the night.  He tirelessly helped me into the shower or into the bathroom while we stayed in the hospital.  He had such an ease with babies.  Way more than I did.  And then we took that baby to our cozy little home on a cold, sunny February morning.

That's a simplified version of how Jon came into our world.  How blessed we were to be his parents.  He made our little family so happy.

Today was the first time we've celebrated a birthday without Bill.  He has never missed a birthday.  Not one.  It doesn't seem fair that Jon was only able to celebrate 10 birthdays with his Dad.  I don't think I remember much about my first 10 birthdays.  Maybe not the next 10 either.  Will Jon remember?  Will he remember his first birthday, the one when Bill stayed up all night with him because he was sick?  Or his second birthday when we drove home from Chincoteague with Bill sitting in the backseat of the van holding a bag for Jon to vomit in because he was sick again?  Or his 8th birthday which we spent in Danville at the tank museum?  10 is not a very big number and 10 doesn't seem like enough to remember.  That makes me sad.

In all reality, this birthday was spent in pretty typical Pennick Family style.  Jon got to choose his meals (donuts, Panera Bread, and 5 Guys Burgers), his activities (Lego Store), and his cake (Angel Food with orange/lemon icing).  He used the same number candles we've been adorning cakes with for so many years I cannot remember exactly.  Jon wore the "Birthday Boy" badge that we've had forever.  So many traditions were still celebrated.  But we all felt the huge, gaping absence of Bill.  It was like everything was flat.  No dimension.  Just flat.  Things sounded strange.  The cake and candles were there but they seemed dull and cold.  The birthday song was sung but it sounded hollow and out of tune to my ears. It was all the same but so very, very different.

 I think we all tried to make this day special for Jon.  We tried to keep this birthday as normal as possible, considering how un-normal life is right now.  I think we did a great job. I think Jon was happy and content and felt loved.  For that, I am grateful.  But, selfishly, I want it all back to normal.  Only this is normal now.

YouTube is Made for Widows.

Bill liked to make lists.  Big, detailed lists with all the things he wanted or needed to do.  Sometimes these lists contained outrageously unlikely bullet points (hiking the Camino deSantiago).  Other lists included the minutiae (make bed, brush teeth, etc.) that hardly deserved space on a piece of paper.  The morning he died, Bill made one of his lists.  This particular list contained the jumble of projects he wanted to complete during the spring and summer of this year.  Now, that list in hand, I'm a woman on a mission.

(I should clarify:  I consider Saturday evening the day Bill died, though in reality, he took his last breath on Monday.  The 48 hours between were artificial and of little consequence so I believe he left us on Saturday.  Understand?)

 Bill's favorite verse was 1 Thess. 4:11--"make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, mind your own business, and work with your hands...."  That's going to be my verse too.  Can't get in too much trouble when you're busy.  Can't have a pity party (at least not a very big one) when you're busy.  You sleep well at night after a busy, productive day.  Busyness often provides opportunities to serve others.  Yes, yes, I know that busyness can also be bad, an excuse to bury or smoother emotions.  Whatever.  Work with me here, okay?  God gave me capable hands and a determined spirit so work is what's, ahem, working right now.

There are some items on that list that I do not know how to do.  Butcher chickens?  Never done it.  But YouTube can show me the way.  Replace the outlet in the bathroom?  Oh yeah, YouTube can provide dozens of videos showing me how to do that.  Pouring a concrete pad?  YouTube makes it seem fun!  Revamping the pond?  I watch YouTube videos (and look at Pinterest, of course) of the process and feel like it'll get done.  So you see, YouTube is the greatest resource for widows.  Or maybe it's a dangerous resource.  I've not decided which one is more accurate yet.

With the lovely weather we're having this week, I undertook the "paint the front porch columns and foundation" entry on Bill's list.  I also removed the astro-turf from the front steps and scraped/sanded/repainted those.  I used power tools.  I used spray foam.  I crossed 2 items off that list.  

Bill would be proud.  He might question my choice of paint colors, but he would be proud of me.  And that makes me happy.

A Different Sort of Day.

The first Valentine's Day I ever spent with Bill was in 1988.  I was 16.  Bill brought a rose and a balloon (as was customary for a teenager in the 80's) to my house, I guess it was a love offering.  Later on, I found out he'd taken the same offering to another girl.  What a player, that Bill!

Next Valentine's Day, 1989, I was his girlfriend.  His only girlfriend.  I still have the love note that he wrote to me that Valentine's Day.  It's pretty sappy but also pretty sweet.  So, since then, there have been 25 more Valentine's Days.  26 including this year.  Each year was celebrated a little differently than the one before but each one was perfectly simple and Bill-like.  I know he loved me.  He never let me forget that.

2015.  This year is the most different yet.  There were no flowers.  No candy. No hand written note. No kisses even.  But it was still simple and still full of love.  I spent the day with my dear friends from Virginia.  We had a lovely lunch, walked on the beach in the beautiful sunshine, then finished the day with a late dinner with family.  Family and friends.   Whether distant or near.  It's what gets us through. To be able to spend time with people who love us and understand our floundering attempts at normalcy is the gift this year, I guess.  When those around us just act without waiting for an invitation, that is the gift.  Overlooking our silence, our sadness, our vagueness it also the gift.  Just letting us remember our Bill and smiling happily at his memory is the gift.

I am thankful to everyone for being so understanding and helpful.  I've not thanked people nearly enough but I feel so strange these days and I'm certain that my behavior seems out of character.  I'm trying to balance it all and feel that I might come across as indifferent or even rude.  Please know that this is not on purpose.  Here's how I can best describe it:  You know those plate spinners at the circus?  The ones that spin plates atop long poles?  Well, I feel like I've been spinning six of those plates for the past twenty years.  I had gotten pretty good at it, considering all the practice I'd had.  Now I feel like one of those plates crashed to the ground, upsetting the balance of the other five plates.  I've got to get those plates spinning again but someone just threw me three balls to juggle with too.  And I have to do it all while balancing on a tightrope.  See?  No wonder I'm having trouble!  Please be patient with me as I adjust.

Happy Valentine's Day to my favorite valentine ever.  You might not be next to me holding my hand, but you'll forever be holding my heart.

Mop and Glo.

Today was Wednesday. It was also a good day.  On Wednesdays I like to clean all the bedrooms in the house.  Change sheets, dust, mop, wash windows, tidy.  You know, all the regular stuff.  I was feeling good today so the cleaning carried over into the living room,  The kitchen,  Then the bathroom.  That's where I noticed the floor.  It was shiny.  I remembered that Bill had cleaned the bathroom a few days before he died.  And he used Mop and Glo.  He loved Mop and Glo.  I hate Mop and Glo.  I dislike the smell, I loathe the shine, and I think the stuff creates this layer of muck on top of the floor's surface that prevents a person from ever getting it clean.  But Bill never noticed anything but the shine.  That's all I noticed today too.
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 I'll repeat it again; today was a good day.  I'll say it again because tomorrow might not be so great and I'll need a reminder that there are good days.  I'm working hard on getting us back into a routine. (thus the Wednesday room cleaning.  FYI:  Thursdays are bathroom cleaning days.)  Chores and school in the mornings.  More chores, free time, and nap time after lunch.  Errands, running, and more chores before dinner.  Then we clean up the kitchen (oh, the play list I have created for kitchen clean up would make Bill proud!), showers, and then we just chill until bedtime.  It's simple and consistent and it works. We talk about Dad and we laugh.  Sometime we cry, but mostly we've been laughing.  Bill would be glad.

I've been playing catch with the boys after lunch.  Someone remind me to catch the ball in the webbing of the glove.  My left hand is sore.  Jack throws too hard for me but I'm still hanging with him.  He told me today that I was not as good as Dad (duh) but I wasn't bad for an old lady.  Punk.  Jack also took his permit test yesterday and passed with an 88%. Bill and I had to take the same test when we applied for our Oregon driver's licenses when we moved back from Virginia.  I scored an 80%.  That's the lowest acceptable  passing score.  Bill got an 82%. He claimed it was the only time he'd ever beat me on a test.  Anyway, back to Jack's permit.  I'm not good at teaching kids to drive.  Let's just say that my patience level hovers near zero when sitting in the passenger seat.  My right foot jerks as if to depress an imaginary brake and I unconsciously grab the dash in front of me all too dramatically and all too often.  Bill was much better suited for this work than I.   Pray for me.

The daphne is blooming.  The peas are ready for planting.  I had a good run this afternoon.  I ordered new running shoes.  There was happiness and love in my mailbox today.  Phone conversations were uplifting and kind.  Our house is warm.  Our cupboards are full.  Our hearts are still hurting, but there is love.  Lots and lots of love.  I found a sappy love note that Bill wrote to me for Valentines Day in 1989 (I was 17).  How thankful I am for him.  He will always be my Valentine.

Ride My Seesaw.

Up and down and up and down.  That's how I'm living.  Anyone know that song?  Come on, surely there's a few Moody Blues fans out there.  I have vivid memories of being a little girl and my parents listening to a Moody Blues greatest hits album and just loving the music.  I think I'll dig out my album tomorrow and turn up the record player. Yeah,  I'm cool like that.

So I got a message from a friend today asking if I was intentionally avoiding people.  She went on to say (in a nice way) that sequestering myself from the world was not going to help my pain subside.  I truly appreciate the concern and, even more, I appreciate her willingness to risk upsetting me in order to find out where my behavior was originating from.  I like straight shooters.  You always know where you stand with people like that.  Anyway, to answer that question, no, I have not intentionally been avoiding people.  In fact, I love company and am so happy when someone drops by, invited or not, for a visit. Gosh, I might be an extrovert after all!  What I need is for people to remember that I'm doing this life thing solo right now.  There's only me and a passel of people who need me to take care of them.  Animal chores, housework, cooking, schooling.  That's where my time is spent and it takes all the time that I have.  (And now I also realize just how much Bill did for me.  Shame on me for not recognizing it more.  Learn from my mistakes, people.)  I'd love to be able to grab a few minutes for a phone call to catch up or a cup of coffee with a friend.  But these days, there's little time for that.  I'm not complaining or asking for sympathy.  I'm just stating the way it is.  I'm a rational gal and I know this chapter won't last forever so, for now, I just have to go with it.

If I haven't answered your email, responded to a phone call, or written you a thank you note, please be patient and understanding (which I know everyone is--people are so kind).  I'm conversing with you all in my thoughts, recognizing your generosity and kindness in my mind.  Please keep communicating and visiting us.  It's truly the bright spot in our days.  I'm not nearly the hostess that Bill was (Host.  He would be a host not a hostess.  Geez.), but I'll try to make you feel loved and special.  Just like he always did.

The Longest.

After today, this will be the longest I have gone without seeing Bill in 28 years.  Until this point in my life, I've only gone 3 weeks without seeing him (he was in England once and the kids and I were visiting Oregon without him several years ago).  I've already surpassed the longest I've gone without talking to him.  So at least there's one hurdle I've managed to clear.

My entire self just sort of aches.  And the depth of loneliness I seem to feel is suffocating.  Not exactly sadness, more like emptiness and cold.  When Bill died, it felt like any bits of youth or silliness or carefree behavior I had in me died too.  I suddenly feel old--too old.  Too responsible.  Too serious.  Too dull.  Too tired.  Too numb.  Too alone.

Today I remembered a time when I was 18 and Bill was 16 that we drove to Newport and rented a little crabbing boat. (I know I was 18 because you had to be 18 to rent the boat.  18?!  Seriously, that is a scary thought to me now.)   It was $33 for 3 rings, 3 bags of bait, and 3 hours of rental in the bay.  We cooked and cleaned those crab and brought them home to our parent's houses to share.  I also thought of a time in the fall of 1990 where we drove up above Idanha to fish. It was a week night.  I remember stopping at the Circle K in Mill City to buy a magazine so I would have something to read.  The vine maple leaves were already changing so it must have been late October.  Bill bought me a Skor bar at the Idanha Market on our way home.

Let's Do Something Fun Today.

I've been a downer this week.  Deservedly so, but still kind of a killjoy.  Here, let's look at some of the happy things for a while:

 Ultrasonic oil diffuser.  We're using Thieves oil.  And yes, that is a record player. I like my records.

 Bill's glove and a ball from the boys he coached last summer.  I think Bill's favorite saying "Chicks dig scars" originated from Scott Hall.  Correct me if I'm wrong, someone.

 Happy tulips from my dear friend from afar.  Just lovely.

 New knitting project.  Sparkly yarn. 

 New hobby.  I always told Bill that I would learn to spin when I was old and the kids were gone.  I found this wheel earlier this week for a song--I think it was a gift from Bill.

 Nothing says spring quite like primroses.

 Daphne.  My favorite flower ever.

New dishcloth from Trader Joe's.  Why is this making me happy?  Well, when we were visiting Astoria last month I found some funky Swedish dishcloths at an import store.  They're made of cellulose and cotton and they're rather pricey so I only bought one.  I found the same thing at the Trader for about 1/4 of the price.  Score!

What?!  You don't think my pictures seem particularly happy?  Dishcloths and yarn don't make you smile?  Hmmm.  We might need to talk about things.

What I Really Need.

It's funny that the first thing people want to know is how I'm going to tend to the more practical aspects of my life.  You know, things like cars, mowing the grass, painting the house, and stacking the firewood.  Then the conversation always comes around to ask how I'm going to support myself.  That's just a polite way of asking if I have any money.  Sometimes the money question comes first but always these two queries appear together. In all honesty, neither one of these things occupies much space in my mind right now.  Near the bottom of the priority pile.  I don't want to sound ungrateful or foolish.  I am truly thankful that people are kind enough to be concerned about my family's current situation.  Our future too. The incredible generosity shown to us has been utterly amazing.  But really, it's not the money or the work that worries me.  I have faith that all that peripheral stuff will work out.  I worry about ever feeling safe again.

Am I worried that someone is going to break into our home and hurt the kids or I?  No, not that kind of safety.  Maybe security is a better word.  I feel that there is no one who can take care of us the way that Bill could.  Really, I'm sure that's true. That is a rather unsettling feeling.  I'm a practical gal, so I know that I can (and will) take care of myself and our kids, but, dagburnit,  who will really take care of me?  Who will, how do you say it, "have my back?"  Who will support me and kick my tail into next week when it needs to be kicked?  Unsettling, I tell you.  This is a void that no parent or friend or child can fill.  It is a Bill-sized hole.

Bill was a son, a brother, a grandson, a nephew, an in-law, a father, a friend, an acquaintance, and a co-worker.  I'm sure any of the people who fit into the mentioned categories feel the void, understand the loss.  But I am the only wife.  No one else holds that distinction except me.  Think on that for a few moments.  Only me.  This is the reason words and kindness and solidarity do little to comfort me.  I have lost my stability, my security, in a way no one else has.  Only me.  I still get up in the morning and make my coffee.  Everyone has clean laundry in their drawers and there's food on the table (lasagna, anyone?  or ice-cream?).  I can make this life seem grounded and "normal"--in fact that's what I strive to do for the sake of our kids.  But, in reality, my world is a vacuum, without gravity, cold and lifeless as granite.  I'm trying to remember that granite sparkles in the sun.

I see.

Soon, Very soon.  I will be glad to see you, sweet friend.

For the first time in what seems like an eternity, I see things this morning.  I see the trees on the hill, wind whipping their branches all crazy like.  I see the little birds that Bill loved to feed scratching on the patio.  I see a crow and a bald eagle chasing each other (who will win that battle?).  I see a mess of bark dust on the path where the chickens have been digging.  I see a little wisp of cloud coming up out of the river, never keeping the same form.  I see a "v" of geese flying overhead.  I see Madeline get in her car and drive off to work for the day.  I see Sarah sprawled out on the bed, finger still in her mouth.  I see Jon and Jack beginning to move about in their beds.  I see buds on the trees and the snowdrops beginning to bloom.  I see life.  My life, their life.  Like that cloud evaporating off the river, it doesn't keep the same form for long.  Always changing, but also always moving.

Another Day.

I did it.  I made it through another day.  Heck, I even got some stuff done around here too.  School work was completed, boys were signed up for baseball, death certificate was faxed to some government entity, beds were changed, and the fridge cleaned out.  I didn't bother to cook though.  I ate ice cream for dinner instead.  And now I'm listening to my new roomie sucking her finger while she sleeps.  This new roommate is a snugly one, though in a different way than the one who preceded her.  This new one doesn't snore and isn't nearly as hairy either.  I'm pretty sure she wouldn't appreciate being woken up for a late night chat and snack (which Bill was always up for) so I might need to make some revisions to my usual schedule.  Yeah.  That's how it is with just about everything.  Revisions.

So I thought of some things that I'm going to have to learn how to do now.  I try not to think too much because one thought always leads to another thought which leads me to this really insurmountable place where I cannot fathom escaping from.  But sometimes I do think and then I have to make a list.  Lists are really awesome.  It's also a good thing when I remember that I kind of like to be independent and learn to do new things.  I have to check my oil--better remember to keep paper towels in the car for that.  I have to scrub the mildew and moss off of the vinyl fence.  I have to play catch with Jon (Jack throws too hard for me now) and hit ground balls to him.  I'm really pretty awesome at that.  I have to clean the chicken coop.  I have to figure out how to clean the chimney.  And the gutters.  I am responsible for all toilet disasters.  Do I have to keep reading Dickens to the kids at bedtime?  The attic--it mocks me with its vermin and detritus.  I'm afraid of that place.  I will have to change an electrical socket.  That's what YouTube is for, right?  I will have to be a grandma by myself. But I won't have to share babies with Bill, the Baby Hog.  On paperwork, I have to leave the spot that says "spouse" blank.  There's plenty more.  Trust me on that.

Tomorrow I'll get up.  I'll throw Bill's work coat on over my nightgown, shove my bare feet into my muck boots, and make my way out to the woodshed to feed the dogs and the cat.  On to the chicken coop to check how my ladies are doing after a night's sleep.   Then I'll load up the wheelbarrow with half a bale of hay and head out to the field to feed the cows.  I'll rub Bud's curly forehead and let Sissy lick my hand.  Then I'll pause at Bill's grave and tell him about my plans for the day.  I'll tell him that I miss him and walk up the hill to the house alone.

And It All Changed.

Just like that, everything changed.  Not just a few things.  Everything.  Really, I'm not sure that I can grasp just how different things are now.  I'm not sure I even want to understand.  Do I ramble?  Probably.

So before I go any further, let's clear up some of the crazy rumors that have been circulating.  It seems that news. good or bad, travels quickly these days with the wide usage of social media. Facebook is a great way to communicate in this modern age, but it also creates an easy opportunity for insensitive people to poke about in other's misfortune.  There's nothing like using someone else's tragedy to draw attention to oneself, don't you think?  My dearest Bill died on Monday, January 20th, at the hospital in Salem.  That's when he took his last breath.  But really, he died in my arms on Saturday, January 18th, when he suffered a fatal heart arrhythmia known as ventricular fibrillation.  The wonderful paramedics and firemen from the local volunteer fire department worked so hard on Bill, trying to resuscitate him.  He was, after all, only 41, and he had a wife and four children to live for.  But I knew he was gone.  I didn't want to know it, but I did.  I didn't leave him alone in the hospital. I put my hand in his warm hand, the one I'd held so many times, and kept it there until the end.  That hand that shyly held my hand for the first time when I was 16.  The hand that held mine when he asked my to marry him at my apartment in Corvallis.  The hand that held mine and promised to love me forever at our wedding the following year.  The hand that held mine through each of our children's births (I may have squeezed it pretty hard a few times).  The hand that held mine when I was sad or angry or afraid.  The hand that was always there.  In the car.  In bed.  At church.  Walking.  The hand that was always there.  Letting go of that hand was the hardest thing I've ever done.  I kissed his silent face, beard and all, and walked away into the unknown.  That's what really happened.

Lots of women become widows.  Some are even younger than me.  I know all of this.  But I am different than most.  My story is different than most. We were different than most.  Bill was the only real boyfriend I had.  And I was the only real girlfriend that he had.  We were young, sure, but we always knew something was different.  We grew up together.  We should have grown old together.  Neither one of us was perfect but it didn't matter.  Where I lacked, he had abundance.  Where he needed more, I had more to give.  We were perfectly suited to each other.  The best compliment to the other.  We were in agreement on all the big issues.  We believed the same things.  We were on the same path, leading the same direction.  And then this happened.

You know, this is only the beginning of the story.  There's much more to share, and certainly as I make more sense of it I'll share.  I am comforted by the fact that Bill is more happy than I can imagine and one day I'll be with him again.  I hope he'll be proud of me, proud of what I've done and how I've raised our kids.  Until then, I believe that the 28 years we were together (20 of those married) were more amazing and full of love than many couples who have been married twice as long.  Bill was my greatest friend and I love him more than I could even begin to explain.  But you can be sure I just might try.